


Of Poppies & Pigeons

by sastrasantai



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Dark, Death, Drugs, Everybody in the D-Agency makes an appearance, Everything is implied and nothing is graphic, Historical References, Mention of actual war atrocities, Non-Linear Narrative, None of the main characters or the spies die, Opium, Other, War Crimes, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 21:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8939725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sastrasantai/pseuds/sastrasantai
Summary: "Spies can only be effective in peacetime. Once the war starts, the meaning of our existence vanishes."And yet intelligence work must continue for the sake of the war. Tazaki was determined to do whatever he could to successfully complete his mission in Manchuria. But what would he learn in the process? And what was the cost?Now in FULL version.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the Joker Game Fanzine published on December 2016 and organized by [Jimmi](http://i-dedicate-this-kill-to-the-fans.tumblr.com/).

**London: 1950**

“You think the worst of the war happened in the battlefields. You’re wrong.”

Tazaki said this to boys wearing a badge of red poppy flower on their coats. The poppy was plastic but the naivete in the boys’ eyes was genuine.

That cold November was cloudy and grey. The boys, wearing the poppy badge for Remembrance Day, had been bragging about how their fathers survived the worst battlefields during the war. Tazaki had been feeding pigeons in an empty park till he crossed paths with the three boys, who looked not unlike the brothers he befriended in the Asia Express train. Tazaki had been listening, nodding and smiling gently as he would for any boy, until he uttered those words.

Tazaki was once part of the war—but he never wore a true uniform, or saw a carpet of corpses, or killed a man with a gun. He thought his job was over when Japan started pulling all able men into the frontlines.

_Spies are only effective during peace time. Once the war starts, the meaning of our existence vanishes._

That was what he once thought—but he soon discovered the war was just the beginning.

 

* * *

 

 

**Mukden, Machukuo: 1940**

“If there is a war, there is always a job for men—any man.”

Tazaki nodded. It was his job to look agreeable in front of superiors and in any case, he needed a mission.

“So, you’re an intelligence officer looking for a job.” The commanding officer in front of Tazaki grumbled, leaning his ample frame forward to see him better.

“Correct, Sir.”

“Hmph. What can you do? What are you even _good_ at? Cause frankly I’ve got too many dumb dogs under my command.”

Tazaki kept his sterling smile. Good thing he wasn’t one to flip tables at insults—though he knew the clandestine agency he graduated from must have produced the most intelligent men in Japan. He was only slightly disappointed when his superior spared no glance at the document by his right hand—a document Tazaki just handed, detailing his own position, history, and capabilities as an intelligence officer—all meticulously fabricated down to his previous employers’ addresses.

Tazaki cleared his throat and took three minutes to give his supervisor a summary of his skills. On the other hand, the man took only a minute to decide on Tazaki’s assignment.

“You seem like the smart kind—very well.” The pig-like officer sighed. “Your job is to keep an eye on our own people—military men, doctors, businessmen, you’ll find out. I want you to keep an eye on them and any treacherous rats in their circles—their friends, wives, children, even servants. Use any means you want. Come back tomorrow and I’ll give you a list of names.”

“Understood, Sir.”

Walking out into a crowded square in the Japanese district, Tazaki felt a little spring in his steps. It was his first mission in a while. He had no control over the worsening war but he was not too worried. After all, he could only do what he can—and continue being a spy he certainly could.

 

 

**Hsinking, Machukuo: 1940**

“I want you to make a copy of your masters’ records each month.” Tazaki said quietly, standing in the moonless alley. He made no threats or pleads—just a simple instruction. That was how he ran his job.

The butler yawned, seemingly thoughtful, before answering, “My master will kill me if he finds out.”

“I’ll give you this much.” Tazaki said as he slipped cash into the butler’s pocket.

“A Chinese dog like me can get nothing with that!” The butler spat.

“It’s more than enough to feed your family _and_ some night girls.”

“That still ain’t enough.”

“Then I’ll sell your wife and children to the military police.”

“Lord—take them! All they do is beg and cry their ugly asses off!” The butler cried out, turning to face Tazaki. “I want what you Japs stole from our fields—and I bet you got a hundred stacks of ‘em.”

“ _Opium_.”

“Now we’re talking.” The butler nodded, showing Tazaki his ugly teeth.

Tazaki nearly sighed. Almost all his informants had requested the same. He would rather not deal with obtaining and circulating an illegal drug—but he needed a way to ensure his informants’ loyalty, and a mission was a mission.

 

 

Within weeks of a little investigation, Tazaki found himself inside an inconspicuous warehouse by the railway tracks one afternoon, under the watch of a surly, sour-faced officer by the name of Itoh. The officer was impatiently tapping his pen on a large wooden desk, situated right in front of two steel, foot-thick vault doors which hide the army’s very own opium stock.

“You want how much?” Itoh barked. “And what for?”

Sweettalking was not new to Tazaki. He simply smiled, “What do other officers usually request them for? I imagine many of them beg or make up excuses just to get some. Must be quite the nuisance.”

Itoh sighed and rolled his eyes. “Right. Those _rats_.”

“Well, dealing with them and keeping the records in order, you must have a difficult job,” Tazaki remarked empathetically. “However, you must be very capable since you’ve held this position for so long—perhaps they should consider raising your salary.”

Itoh frowned. “Why? So I can spend it on drugs and fancy girls? Let me tell you, some higher ups have tried to bribe me and I don’t give a damn. I only care about keeping the stock and the records right. Because this disgusting thing here—“He waved his hand over the doors. “Is a deadlier weapon than the damn guns. You know why?”

“Why is that?”

“Haven’t you heard? Because no starving man is happier than one stuffed with opium—and no starving man is more desperate than one deprived of it _._ ”

A warning he had heard many times and still Tazaki nodded innocently. Satisfied at his reaction, Itoh went on.

 _“_ Now let me tell you, even the general _himself_ would dance naked in the squares if I promise him a load of opium in return. But I don’t do that—you know why?” Itoh paused, glancing at Tazaki. “Because I despise people. But the opium-crazy ones—I absolutely _hate_ them. They are worse than the things that come off their asses.”

Tazaki warmly agreed.  Sweat streamed down his back as he stood in that dark room, surrounded by a faint, repulsive smell.

“You know, it’s insane how Japan has almost full control of the opium circulation in Manchu.” Itoh leaned back on his chair, fanning himself. “This state of Manchu is beyond control, it’s ungovernable—the Army knew that when they came in. So, we spread this drug that make people stupid—but at least they’d do anything for us if we give them the drugs. That or they stay stupid so they won’t fight us back. Even bars, shops, brothels, and gambling houses in the cities—they’re run by us Japanese, and they got opium to keep people stupid and happy. And now the higher ups have plans to get more opium by bribing crime gangs outside of Manchu—the Army, working with Chinese crooks! Can you believe it!?”

Laughing, Itoh slapped his fan onto his knee and shook his head wildly as Tazaki maintained his amiable face.

“So, young man. What is this for?” Itoh finally asked him with a sly look. “You seem decent enough—but I’ve seen many of your kind wasted.”

“Rest assured, I have no intention to use it for myself.” Tazaki answered. “I intend to use it, as you say, on certain people as a weapon of war.”

“ _Excellent_.”

Itoh returned minutes later with a packet wrapped in newspapers.

“Beware.” He warned with a cunning smile. “Try not to have too much fun with this _curse_.”

Tazaki thanked the officer and made sure he didn’t look like he wanted to leave in a hurry.

 

* * *

 

 

**Tokyo: 1938**

The silver-haired man rested his cane against the wall. He wrote quickly across the board, turned to face a room full of attentive young men, and spoke with a voice like rumbling thunder.

“That is today’s exercise. Discuss.”

And the room sunk into tense silence even after he had picked up his cane and left, the way it always did.

“The best way to cause the collapse of a country and its people, huh.” Amari read the scribble out, nodding. “Interesting.”

“The fuck—is he trying to destroy Japan!?” Shouted Hatano.

“It’s an exercise, stuuuu-pid!” Kaminaga yelled from across the room.

“Collapse of a country? Well, that would depend on the size of a country and its population, wouldn’t it?” Tazaki explained as he deftly slipped a card in and out of his sleeve. “China is vast and highly populated so it would and still is a challenge—but say, smaller areas or islands…”

“But still! That’d also depend on the country’s level of resources and technology. People can survive as long as they have resources and the technology to use them efficiently, right?” Kaminaga butted in.

“True.” Agreed Amari. “That is unless an army invades and monopolizes the resources for their own good—like our own Army.”

Jitsui nodded. “Yes, a country may have a lot of natural resources but if the people live in their own small communities without a unifying belief system, they cannot assemble and put up sizable resistance.”

“Unifying belief system—like religion or nationalism, huh…” Odagiri added.

“You’re quite right. It’s also essential for those belief systems to be led by charismatic leaders as well as decisive masterminds who are not necessarily the same people. That’s how you build both symbol and momentum for any movement.” Miyoshi commented with a knowing smirk. “Take the Emperor and our Army for example—”

“All right—back to the discussion, you creeps!” Hatano piped in. “So to destroy a country you take over their resources and kill their people—not easy, I know—or kill their leaders and decision-makers, what else?”

“What if you kill their _hope_?” Asked Fukumoto.

Tazaki paused his card trick as everybody turned their heads towards Fukumoto.

“Can you elaborate?”

Nodding, Fukumoto continued calmly, “To make a society mentally collapse, you systematically kill their hope of returning to the same peaceful society. First you instill fear through terrorism, murder, rape, blackmailing, kidnapping, and such. Second, you kill their minds— control the news, take over the schools, and give people drugs or starve them out. If the people can’t think or hope, they can’t fight back. Though it’s all easier said than done.”

In the silence that followed, Tazaki could hear snowflakes tapping against the window.

“Fukumoto, you’re so scary—remind me not to be friends with you anymore!?” Shouted Kaminaga.

The classroom exploded into laughter. Resuming his card-flipping, Tazaki contemplated Fukumoto’s scenario as he watched the rolling black clouds, a snowstorm brewing outside, as the thought continued to gnaw on him like the air growing colder on his skin.

 

* * *

 

 

**Mukden: 1940**

Tazaki prided himself on being good at observing and reading people. That ability, born by nature and honed to its sharpest by the agency, had been exceptionally useful in his job. He could easily interpret the light in someone’s eyes and make sense of their smiles. But nowadays hardly anyone made eye contact. From the passing looks he could only read one sentiment in people’s eyes:

_Hopeless, hopeless._

As one who found beauty in the daily motions of life, he regretted the lack of it in the city. No more busy markets, with its rainbow of vegetables, overflowing silk, and shouting merchants. No more aunties gossiping over teacups and sweets in brightly painted shops. No more men crowding over board games or children flying dragon-shaped kites in the streets.

Instead, he saw thin figures littering the alleys like scattered twigs, with hollow eyes and scaly skins, waiting on empty pans. Girls rested behind barred windows by day till night, when they would scour the streets for customers. Gangs gathered in the open, smoking and counting stolen cash between the many peeling, piss-smelling buildings.

Tazaki truly did not wish to be in this district. But it was imperative that he plant an informant in the area and this was the day they had promised to meet. He turned a corner to see a woman throwing herself at a uniformed man’s arms.

“Please, no! That’s my family’s—”She screamed, staring at a tiny, ornate box in the officer’s arms. “What will we eat—you can’t!”

“Your husband hasn’t paid us at all lately, woman, so this is now ours.” Grinned the officer.

“My husband’s been gone for weeks!”

“Shame—but what’s due is due.” Another officer calmly said.

The woman burst into tears. “You already killed him! What more do you want? We have nothing!”

As she crumpled onto the ground, a girl came out of the crumbling tenement, whispering and steadying her mother’s quaking shoulders.

“Did you hear this woman accusing us? What do we do now?” An officer playfully asked, turning to face the other three men in uniform, who laughed and smiled at the weeping woman.

“I guess we have no choice.” Declared one of them as he stepped forward and pulled his baton. Another one seized the girl’s wrist and dragged her into a car as her mother’s screams echoed louder than firecrackers in that narrow alley.

Tazaki took a step back. 

“Ya shocked? Happens erryday.”

Tazaki turned around to see his informant, a young man with chicken legs and missing teeth, staring at him.

“Them soldiers—they steal yah money, kidnap, all bad stuff—like thugs. Except soldiers kill yah faster.” He spat, scratching his ear. “Happens ‘ere, happens errywhere.”

“Hmmm.” Tazaki simply said, even though he could feel his grip on his pocket watch tightening. Around him the neighbors were turning away, whispering madly like birds trapped behind walls.

 “Leave them alone! Or they’ll come after you too!”

“They’re never gonna stop till we’re all killed or starved to death!”

“I’m so tired of all this…”

“Scum!”

Tazaki finished his business with the young man and left quickly. In the main street, he walked among masses in drab colors who moved slowly and silently, keeping their head down under the gaze of the military police. He could sense it--the weariness was almost a suffocating scent in the air.

_It’s hopeless._

Tazaki stopped. He recalled a frightful story someone predicted in a classroom not too long ago. Cold sweat running down his neck, Tazaki realized he was surrounded by black clouds in the middle of a storm.

He was standing in that story.

A laughter suddenly broke out amid the clouds. Tazaki scanned the crowd, finding men who looked like they were dancing on the side of the streets. Lazy-limbed and drowsy-eyed, they smiled despite the hollows of their stomachs. They stumbled around without care nor direction as the brooding crowd walked around them without a glance.

_No starving man is happier than one stuffed with opium._

 

 

_Innocent—yet already a tool of war._

Tazaki thought this as he held the warmth of a pigeon in his hands. He had tucked a coded message inside the canister on the pigeon’s feet and was gently scratching its blue-grey feathers. The other pigeons sat cooing in a crowded coop, shipped from Dairen to his apartment only a month ago, but the smuggler included one beautiful snow-colored pigeon instead of the usual dull ones.

The girl he met last night was as pure white as that pigeon. Probably Russian, she couldn’t have been more than fifteen, yet her clothes were barely enough to warm her, skin covered in freckles and purple bruises.

She extended a pipe towards Tazaki, her smile the only light in the dark room.

“Be kind and buy from me, Sir? That way you can help me.” She whispered. “I get one free for every six I sell.”

She giggled, letting the opium pipe fall from her spider-like hand onto the mattress. Tazaki wondered how many she had used and how many she had sold, and whether the first one she smoked was out of choice or compulsion.

Tazaki sighed. He couldn’t use the snow pigeon as it would stand out and become a hunting target, risking its life and the message it brings, but he couldn’t afford to keep it either given limited rations during the war. He’d eventually have to discard the pigeon in some way, just as the girl would be erased once she outlived her usefulness, a brief white flame of an existence.

Tazaki gave the grey messenger pigeon one last pat before casting it away. He watched as the bird vanish into the cold sunlight of grey skies, wondering if it will survive all the way back to Dairen.

 

* * *

 

 

**Tokyo: 1939**

“You are _monsters_.”

Tazaki looked up from the kitchen table and smiled at Sakuma. “We may be spies with incredible abilities, Sakuma-san, but we are still _human_.”

It was one peaceful morning until Sakuma came in with a storm in his eyes. Tazaki guessed he must have had an interesting conversation with the other more provocative spies in the living room. He had offered to listen to his concerns over cigarettes and tea, which all too quickly turned cold.

Sakuma shook his head.

“You are _heartless_!” He shouted. “You didn’t become spies out of dedication for this country and I doubt you even care much about Japan—this country, that has fed and raised and educated you! What do you even take your countrymen for? Do we even matter to you?”

“You see, Sakuma-san, we do value our own lives and others’.” Tazaki calmly explained. “However, _unlike_ the rest of Japan we don’t value ideals or pride _over_ lives.”

It took Sakuma a few seconds to realize Tazaki was referring to John Gordon’s nearly failed investigation.

“Hmph! Fine then,” Sakuma said. “But I still don’t— _can’t_ —understand why you’re doing this aside from your own arrogant confidence!”

“A smart man believes in himself and makes his own decisions—he is swayed neither by the authority nor the whims of the majority.” Tazaki replied, quoting the words he’d heard from his mentor.

“So in the end you’re spies because you’re selfish?”

“No, we’re _individuals_.” Tazaki stated firmly. “We are spies because we decide to be. We do it for ourselves and we take pride in it.”

Sakuma threw his hands into the air. “I can’t believe this!”

He stood up, gulped the tea, and made his way to the door.

“No sense of patriotism, no regard for society.” Sakuma muttered. “You _are_ monsters.”

Tazaki’s smile was warm even as he calmly returned to his tea and newspaper.

 

* * *

 

 

**Harbin, Machukuo: 1940**

Acting was the most crucial part of any spy’s disguise. Over the course of his job Tazaki had pretended to be many things: student, soldier, socialite, even a lover to name a few. He found fooling people and observing their reactions to be a fascinating thrill—much like playing a magic trick, only without pulling the curtains for the final reveal. More importantly, he had to pretend to feel emotions which are appropriate to the situation, such as anger at the news of the Army’s losses or great delight at the opposite.

Still, it was not easy to smile at the sight of blood, red as poppy petals, dripping on black earth.

“This experiment is the first of its kind in the world!” Shouted an officer.

Another thunderous explosion occurred twenty meters away from the deck where Tazaki and the other soldiers were standing. The sounds alone were enough to make anybody flee from the fields. Yet the frightened prisoners froze where they stood.

“We are testing the—“The officer shouted over repeated blasts. “Like I said, we’re testing the effects of grenades at various distances and positions—“

There were as many stakes as there were chained prisoners in the field.

“On live human subjects!” He declared.

The field was growing redder by the minute.

“We hope our findings can help the army use its bombs more efficiently!”

Tazaki held his breath as another blast shook the deck. He had been pursuing a Japanese doctor who leaked information on Japanese experiments to China and the Allies. To find the doctor, Tazaki had disguised himself as a scholar recording the Army’s experiments for the Imperial records, which brought him to a secret facility far more extensive and experimental than he had imagined.

“So what do you think, Sir?” The officer asked him.

Ignoring the nauseating winds blowing from the red fields, Tazaki nodded.

“Yes. Your experiment seems to be quite effective, indeed.”

The officer smiled proudly at him. Tazaki fought the urge to vomit and smiled back.

 

 

**Hsinking: 1941**

It was alright—that Tazaki had to sacrifice human connections for his job. He had left his beloved London and hometown Tokyo. He had left his family behind and no longer saw value in genuine friendships or even romance. As a rule spies must not become too attached. They must trust no one and rely only on themselves. But to sacrifice the value of human life…

“Have you ever thought about how we fund this war, boy?” Itoh asked, leaning back into the chair as he fanned himself in that stinky room.

Tazaki blinked. “I have, Sir, but I’m not sure how.”

Tazaki had not been looking forward to coming here to refill his opium stock—the insufferable Itoh was always too eager to converse with such a courteous guest.

Itoh snickered as he pulled a small box out of his drawer and threw it at Tazaki’s direction. It was a cigarette pack which brand Tazaki had never seen in Japan. As he rolled the cigarette between his fingers, Tazaki thought it looked suspiciously normal.

“They’re Japanese cigarettes made exclusively for export. The Army controls their circulation in China but forbids our people from smoking it. Guess what’s in it—besides tobacco.”

“…Opium.”

Itoh grinned. “It’s strategic. The Army gets Chinese people hooked on these ‘harmless’ cigarettes, they get stupid and keep buying, and more cash goes into the Army. Win-win.”

“That is…smart.” Tazaki nodded, hiding his sigh by sipping tea he could hardly taste.

“Ah—but there’s something even more _twisted_. Have you heard of the Red Vines Program?”

“No, Sir.”

Itoh’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Elegantly designed, that one, and I’ve only just heard of it. With this program the Army’s been working with Chinese agents to build village health centers all over China to cure tuberculosis. You know that? The disgusting coughing disease that’s everywhere in this wretched country?”

“Yes.”

“Anyway, the agents give people tuberculosis medicine for free. _Except_ we manufactured the drugs—and we mixed opium into them. Imagine—all those sick people desperate for a cure—only to end up worse! That way we can create and control foolish addicts without even stepping out of the city. Ha!”

Itoh snapped his fan and collapsed into a whinny, shoulder-heaving laughter.

Tazaki put his teacup down. “That sounds—unnecessary.” He heard himself murmur.

“Eh—what?”

“Oh, no—I was just wondering about the necessity of circulating opium among civilians, especially when our army is doing a fine job in the battlefields.” Tazaki said, recovering his easy smile. “It seems like a lot of extra work.”

“So what? Are you going to stop the Army from distributing opium?”

Tazaki was silent.

“You should think about it a little, you idiot!” Itoh spat and slammed his fan. “Considering how stupid and disorganized our soldiers are, the Army needs to weaken China in every way possible without actual battles, and those stupid addicts won’t fight back! They’ll do anything for us!”

“You’re right.”

Subdued, Itoh picked up his fan and droned on.

“Ah, that reminded me—rumor has it someone’s been leaking information on our biological experiments to the enemies but apparently, that snitch disappeared—probably killed.” Itoh shook his head. “Good grief. What’d happen if China finds out about the cigarettes or the Red Vines Program?! Good thing they won’t ever know.”

Another ugly fit of laughter took over Itoh as Tazaki silently watched. He felt his composure eroding as thoughts and memories stormed inside him. He covered his shaking hands, breathing in deeply despite the stinking, stifling heat in the room. Tazaki must not—never—say a thing.

 

 

**Shanghai: 1941**

The bustling restaurant was a far cry from the poor, haunted alleys. Sitting on leather chairs, with laughter and clinking cutlery in the background, Tazaki faced a mouthwatering set of dishes—dumplings, jellies, sweet buns, pork legs— a treat to his senses and a change from frugal war meals. Yet not much has changed with the man sitting in front of him, a familiar face with heavy-lidded eyes and a deceptively dull expression.

“It’s unexpected for you to ask to see me.” The man Tazaki knew as Fukumoto said evenly.

Tazaki laughed, picking up his chopsticks. “I’m grateful you indulged my request—unusual as it may be.”

“I was curious as well.” Fukumoto admitted, observing Tazaki even as he picked up his bowl. “I hope nothing has gone wrong?”

“Mission-wise I have not encountered any problems I could not handle.” Tazaki answered. “Rather, I have been thinking…”

He put down his chopsticks.

“It’s about the ‘Don’t Die, Don’t Kill’ rule.”

“What about it?” Fukumoto asked, neatly spitting out chicken bones.

“Well, as spies we are taught to not kill. Killing brings no benefits to our work situation. Killing is the job of soldiers in the battlefields—whereas we have our own missions.”

Tazaki rested his bowl and placed his hands on his knees.

“You see, all this time I have lived and worked in Manchu with professional detachment, making sure I do not interfere in ways that would endanger my life or my identity. But through my observations I realized…” Tazaki paused and took a deep breath. “That mass killings are happening right here, though in not so obvious ways, and it’s all the work of our Army.”

He remembered the crowds moving in tired waves past the beggars and gangs and night girls. The glazed eyes of men and women dancing in opium smoke. He remembered the sinister look of a soldier as he pulled the hand of an innocent girl. He remembered every word Itoh spouted in unabashed amusement, the heroin-laced cigarettes, the hopelessness.

“The Army’s been doing it since we invaded China a long time ago—you knew that.” Fukumoto pointed out.

“I knew.” Tazaki smiled sadly. “And I just stood and watched as it happened before my eyes.”

Tazaki recalled smiling only meters away from burning red fields. He looked up to see Fukumoto’s unchanging expression.

“But aren’t _we_ part of the Army too?” Asked Tazaki.

And suddenly words flooded from his mouth in an angry, dark rush.

“All the spies working here, individuals as we are, aren’t we still puppets of the Army? With the information we’ve collected and transferred—are we _not_ complicit in the Army’s systematic destruction of this land? We may not kill but aren’t we—indirectly—causing the deaths of _millions_ _of people_?”

Tazaki realized his hands had turned into fists. Steadying his breathing, he looked down at the plate he’s barely touched, the food barely tasted. In the meantime, Fukumoto munched on and watched him closely.

“It is indeed contradictory to our ‘Don’t Kill’ motto.” Fukumoto replied, swallowing. “Does that bother you? Do you want to quit?”

Tazaki considered the option.

“No.” He shook his head. “As long as I can continue this job, I will.”

“So the job doesn’t bother you. What does then?”

Mulling over the question, Tazaki picked up a sweet bun and broke it into bite sizes. He needed his hands to work along with his mind—a bad habit.

“I suppose I can understand the war over territory and resources, given Japan’s lack of both, but I see no point in fostering cruelty, crime, or civilian murders.” He spoke carefully. “The horrific conditions we have created in China—is this what we are aiming for with this war? What is the point of it all?”

“So you don’t agree with the war.” Fukumoto noted.

“I suppose—to some extent.” Tazaki agreed, biting into the bun.

Fukumoto poured some tea into two cups.

“But if not for the war, we wouldn’t have existed, Tazaki. We wouldn’t be spies.”

Fukumoto stared straight at Tazaki’s widening blue eyes, speaking without the slightest waver, and placed a teacup in front of Tazaki.

“You owe your life to this war.” Fukumoto said. “It’s business.”

Tazaki swallowed. The buns had turned bitter in his mouth. 

 

* * *

 

 

**London: 1950**

Tazaki smiled and waved goodbye to the poppy-badged boys. He wondered if he should feel sorry for ruining their war tales but truthfully he wasn’t. Poppies did not remind him of soldiers who died in war. In his memory, most ones who danced in the poppy fields never went to the battlefields—they were common folks, drugged into peaceful, deceiving dreams as they die a slow death.

A flock of pigeon flew up in surprise as Tazaki walked out of the park and joined the busy but not unfriendly pedestrians in the streets. Hidden in his pockets, his hands nevertheless toyed with coins, a sign of his working mind. Passing through an alley with colorful walls, Tazaki paused to look at posters advertising an international peace congress. The posters depicted a white pigeon—a dove—beautifully and lovingly drawn, standing against stark black background. Tazaki recognized it as the _Dove of Peace_.

He remembered the last messenger pigeons he had during the war, including the snow-feathered one he never sent. He thought the white dove looked peaceful.

 _Poppies. Pigeons. Puppets._ They were instruments of war.

 _Poppies. Pigeons. Spies._ They were things that would never have been celebrated if not for the war.

Tazaki smiled sadly, shrugged, and walked away.

 

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> When I was given the prompts "Tazaki" and "dark" for the fanzine fiction, I originally had an entirely different story and planned it down to the plot, but for various reasons had to drop it. This (plotless) story was written in replacement about 10 days before my extended-extended-deadline (lol). Though there are many things I wish I could change in this story now that I have the time, I chose to keep this the way it was published out of respect for the fanzine.
> 
> Interestingly, the only thing that was left unchanged from my original story idea is the conversation between Tazaki and Fukumoto. I hope this story has made you think a little about the reality of war and the role of spies. 
> 
> Critics, comments, or questions are most welcome. I'm also on [Tumblr](http://terassaras.tumblr.com/).


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